It’s a simple distinction, but it explains why Constantine and his brother Herman alongside Faith Kuya walked away from aid-funded development, thinking to build SafeSip, a Tanzanian startup that treats clean water as a service that must pay for its own survival. 

They speak softly, answer briefly, and rarely stray beyond the question they’ve been asked. Listening to them feels like listening to two brothers who have been solving problems together for so long that they no longer need many words.

Their work, they tell me, is not about donating millions of litres of clean water but about building a business that supplies it.

The brothers’ conviction began in childhood, when they drank from contaminated rivers in rural Tanzania. It hardened during a university internship in Dodoma, where they saw children suffer from preventable waterborne diseases. SafeSip grew out of those experiences.

They speak as much about sacrifice as they do technology. They talk about disappointing family expectations, giving up hobbies, arguing over how cheaply to sell water, and the satisfaction of watching villages begin to organise themselves around reliable access to something most people take for granted.

By the end of our conversation, it is hard not to conclude that the Edward brothers are chasing something bigger than a startup. They are trying to prove that Africa’s oldest problems do not need more charity. They need businesses built to outlast it.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Before SafeSip existed, there were just two people. How did you first meet? What did you each make of the other, and at what point did you realise this was someone you could build a company with?

Constantine: It actually started as just an idea. The real spark came during an internship we did in a village in Dodoma. We saw the situation firsthand—so many children suffering because they didn’t have safe drinking water. From there, we started asking what could be done about it. That’s where it all began.

Water is something most people don’t think about until it disappears. What was your earliest memory of water—perhaps from childhood—that you still carry with you today?

Herman: Growing up in a village, the water was never really safe. We used to drink from the local rivers, which were contaminated. It’s something I can never forget. For me, providing safe water isn’t just a business; it’s a deep part of the culture I come from.

Every founder has a story they tell investors, and another they only tell close friends. What’s the real story of why SafeSip exists?

Constantine: The simple story is that we want to solve Africa’s water problem. But the deeper truth is that Africa doesn’t actually have a water problem; it has an infrastructure problem. That’s why we are building a digital water infrastructure for underserved communities. Before SafeSip, we ran a different campaign focused on agriculture. We tried it for a year or two, but we couldn’t scale it, so we shut it down. We took some time off, and then a group of us came back together to really study the water sector and build SafeSip.

At what point did your conversations stop sounding like two people discussing a problem and start sounding like the blueprint for a business?

Constantine: I remember it clearly in 2023. We applied for a grant focused on water filtration and straws—our very first product idea. We won it, and it was for $10,000. That moment, from then on, it changed. It stopped being a personal conversation and became a serious business conversation.

Herman: At first, it was just an abstract idea. But when you start turning an idea into something real, it’s amazing. We began to ask ourselves: why stop at just helping a few children? Why can’t we save the entire community?

You call SafeSip an autonomous water utility, not a charity. Why was it important to reject the language of aid and instead build a business around one of Africa’s oldest challenges?

Constantine: The word “autonomous” is key because we use AI. Let me explain. Traditional kiosks rely on government-built boreholes and manual pumps. They break down within one to two years. Plus, the government doesn’t do any desalination, so people can only use that water for washing, not for drinking or cooking.

We built a “water bank” — think of it as kiosk 2.0. It operates 24/7 with no need for on-site supervision because it has AI. The AI predicts maintenance issues. For example, if the filters are starting to clog, it sends an alert. We then call a local technician to fix it before it breaks. That’s the point—it’s self-sustaining.

You’ve chosen to build physical infrastructure—solar-powered water stations, smart meters and distribution systems—in an era when investors seem obsessed with software. Have you ever felt that the venture capital model doesn’t fully understand Africa’s biggest opportunities?

Herman: Yes, most investors do prefer software. But in our market testing, we realized you need both. For a while, everyone was obsessed with mobile apps, but many of those aren’t scaling anymore because the revenue model isn’t there. Our water banks are physical, but they also have a software layer. They use the internet and a control unit. We give community members a card; when they tap it to draw water, we get all the data. It’s hardware and software combined.

Every partnership has friction. What’s the biggest argument you’ve had as co-founders, and what did it teach you about each other?

Herman: It wasn’t a conflict, but we had a long discussion. When we decided to move from our initial filtration idea to the water bank model, it took almost a month of debate.

Constantine: It was a positive argument—everyone brought their best ideas to the table. The biggest debate was over pricing. Some said we should sell a 20-litre jerrycan for 1,000 Tanzanian shillings because it’s a premium product. Others argued it should be 500 shillings because the community needs accessibility. We tested it. Now, we charge 250 shillings if you come to the water bank, and 500 if we deliver it to you.

If I spoke to your families separately, what would they say each of you has sacrificed to build SafeSip?

Constantine: For me, it’s my relationships. I work all the time. Sometimes a month goes by and I haven’t called my family. They’re always the ones calling me, asking why I’m never the first to call back.

Herman: For me, it’s about letting my family down at first. I graduated from university and was expected to go for a Master’s and take over a family campaign. I said no because I had a dream to build something of my own. They were disappointed. But now, they are very proud.

You’re solving a problem that governments, NGOs and development agencies have wrestled with for decades. What do they consistently misunderstand about why clean water remains inaccessible?

Constantine: The issue is supervision. Most of these projects are delivered as aid. The money runs out, and there’s no way to maintain the system. For us, we treat it as a business. We earn revenue, and that revenue pays for maintenance. Sustainability has to be built into the model from the start.

Founders often become consumed by their companies. Who are Herman and Constantine when they’re not thinking about water, funding rounds or product roadmaps?

Constantine: To be honest, I’ve lost my hobbies for the past two years. I’m trying to get my life back, but it’s hard. Even when I’m relaxing, there’s a voice in my head saying, “You’re sleeping while you should be doing this and that.” But when I do have free time, I like watching movies.

Herman: The same. We struggle to find time for family or personal development. It demands so much energy and time.

Constantine: I should add that outside of SafeSip, Herman is actually a musician. He plays the guitar and piano.

Investors eventually backed the company. Who believed in the two of you before anyone else did—and who thought you’d lost your minds?

Constantine: The very first believer was Social Shifters. They gave us the $10,000 grant when we only had an idea. That was the foundation. Once we had that credibility, other investors started coming on board.

You’ve spent years earning communities’ trust. Can you remember a single customer or village that fundamentally changed how you think about the business?

Constantine: Yes. When we first built a water bank, we put up a poster with a QR code and the phrase, “Get clean water, quick quick.” People just walked past. No one understood it. One man on a bicycle finally stopped and told us, “I pass here every day, but I thought this was a premium product for rich people.”

That changed everything for us. Now, our water banks are branded clearly. We have a place where people can buy cards and see how the service works. Now, people walk up ready to pay—no questions asked.

If I interviewed each of you separately, what’s one habit about your co-founder that drives you crazy—and one quality you secretly admire?

Herman: I admire Constantine’s passion and energy. He’s relentless. What drives me crazy? Even after office hours, he’s still glued to his computer. I’ll be trying to practice my music, and he’s there at his desk. Honestly, until today, I didn’t even know watching movies was his hobby because I almost never see him do it. Sometimes I wake up at night, and the light is still on in his room.

Constantine: To clarify, we live in the same house, so I can confirm all that. For me, I’ll talk about our CEO, Faye. What I admire is that she’s still studying, but she always makes time for the company. She’ll postpone her studies or exercises to travel for meetings. What drives me crazy? Sometimes, the deadline for a grant pitch is tomorrow, and she finds out about it tonight. I have to call her and beg her to record a pitch, and she says, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” So I have to do a lot of sweet-talking to get her to do it.

Imagine SafeSip becomes Africa’s largest rural water utility. What would success actually look like—not on your cap table, but in the everyday lives of the families you serve?

Constantine: For me, success is seeing people have access to safe, clean water. That’s the foundation. When we open a water bank, we see business evolve. People buy water at 250 shillings and resell it at 500. Others open car washes because the infrastructure is now there. Most importantly, families save money they used to spend on medical bills for waterborne diseases. And the time they used to spend walking long distances to fetch water is now free for building businesses or improving their lives.

Herman: For me, it’s about the ripple effects. Beyond health, access to water reduces family conflicts—like the tension when a wife has to walk miles at dawn to fetch water. It even helps children stay in school because they don’t have to wake up at 4 a.m. to collect water before class.

Finish this sentence: “The biggest misconception people have about entrepreneurship in Africa is…”

Herman: That it’s only for dropouts or those who have no education. Many African families believe that if you have skills and an education, you’re supposed to get a white-collar job—not start a business.

Constantine: Investors think the businesses won’t scale. They see the statistics about failure and get sceptical. The misconception is that we can’t build scalable, continent-changing companies—but we can, and we are.

When you’re 80 and looking back, what do you hope people remember first—that you built a successful startup, or that you changed how millions of Africans access water? Why?

Constantine: I hope they remember that we changed lives. That we gave millions access to safe, clean water. That’s what I want on my epitaph.

Herman: I agree. It’s about impact. We touched on a fundamental problem in the community. That matters far more than the business itself, though the business is how we make it sustainable.

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